


Choke On Your Jewels And All Your Gold (I’m Not Your Souvenir)

by Ellory



Series: Pureblood Wizarding Culture [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aristocracy, Dimension Travel, F/M, Genderbending, Pureblood Culture, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 06:12:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12006741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellory/pseuds/Ellory
Summary: She refused to become the masterpiece of his collection. He would not add High Lady Peverell to his vault of unique treasures.





	Choke On Your Jewels And All Your Gold (I’m Not Your Souvenir)

“Let me go.”

Lysithea Black glared up at High Lord Marvolo Gaunt. He held her tightly enough that she couldn’t escape. Considering he had just kidnapped her from the winner’s circle of the yearly unicorn race (which she had won, thank you very much), she wasn’t surprised. If his grip loosened at all, she would have enough room to Disapparate. And though she would love to kick him hard enough that he would loosen his grip, that stopped working the fourth time she did it.

Why, oh why, had she finally lost control and slapped Percival Weasley with her magic in Marvolo’s presence six months ago? Weasley was Sacred Twenty-Eight, but she wouldn’t be his trophy wife so he could play politics; she would never forgive him for his part in this. She had managed to hide how powerful her magic was for nineteen years. One second of rage against a classless git ruined all her efforts.

“Never,” Marvolo replied. He didn’t use his Minister of Magic voice, all suave and charming and caring. He spoke as Lord Gaunt, implacable, assured he was always right. And while the majority of the Wizarding World would agree with him on that, she wouldn’t.

Lysithea hated him. She loathed his persistence. It didn’t matter how much the Daily Prophet raved about their “destined romance,” because she didn’t see it. There was no way Marvolo was genuinely interested in her; he couldn’t be. All Marvolo wanted was to add her to his collection: Slytherin’s Locket, Hufflepuff’s Cup, Parseltongue scrolls written by Salazar himself, Egyptian treasures from tombs he raided, and so on.

Marvolo never cared about anything common. And until she thoughtlessly flaunted her magic—second only to the Lady Morgana’s—he had never given her more than a passing glance. Lysithea wasn’t bitter about that. Honest!

“I hate you,” Lysithea spat. She refused to become the masterpiece of his collection. He would not add High Lady Peverell to his vault of unique treasures. Lysithea was the result of true love between her parents, not a breeding experiment that successfully resurrected the Peverell Title. She wasn’t for sale. If he had shown interest before … well, they would be having a different conversation.

His magic twisted at her vitriolic words, but he didn’t object to them, as he had done the first ten times he kidnapped her. “Three is a powerful magic number.” Marvolo stared down at her, as if he peered into her soul. “This is the thirty-third time I’ve kidnapped you, Lys.”

“Don’t call me that!” Lysithea abhorred how he said her name—as possessive as Hades trapping Persephone in the Underworld.

“I love you.”

It wasn’t the first time he told her that. It didn’t matter; she didn’t believe him. No, she couldn’t believe him. Gaunts were infamous for doing whatever it took to acquire what they wanted, especially in a spouse. If any other lord or heir kidnapped her, the public would be up in arms. Her dad would’ve declared a blood feud. Instead, he nudged her and winked at her. Since Marvolo was Lord Gaunt, everyone spoke of how romantic and sweet it was, as if he weren’t ruining her life by isolating her from everyone, spreading vicious rumors to discredit her suitors, and stealing her away whenever the mood struck him.

She was grateful to him for one reason alone: Marvolo had never forced Amortentia on her, as his mother had on his father. After seeing true love every day of her life, Lysithea couldn’t imagine what in the world was more horrible than manufactured love. She really couldn’t.

“I don’t believe you.”

“This time, you will.” Without releasing her, Marvolo Summoned a ball of magic as black as his soul. It writhed and spun. “I’ve waited decades for you, Lys. And nothing is going to take you away from me now that I’ve found you.” He smiled; it was terrifying. “I’ll prove we belong together, darling. I’m sending you to other worlds, to see the truth I learned there.”

Everything in Lysithea stilled. What? He had traveled the other worlds? That was Ancient Magic! It was so easy to get lost and never return.

“And the magic won’t let you come back before you believe me.” Marvolo kissed her unresponsive lips. “I’ll wait as long as it takes, Lys … but don’t keep me waiting.”

He thrust the orb of magic into her body. It was cold as winter and burned like the height of summer. Lysithea blinked and fell.

oOo

Lysithea landed in a forest, in a body that was and wasn’t her own, unable to do anything but observe.

“This is all your fault!” Solaria Black yelled as she waved her hands. 

No one was near enough to hear, but that didn’t matter; it was still Marvolo Gaunt’s fault. She could yell at him when he wasn’t around if she wanted, and no one would stop her. Well, unless those Aurors caught up and murdered or imprisoned her. It might be hard to escape Death. Then again, Death might just send her right back. What? She was powerful, okay? Hence the Aurors trying to off her before she reached Marvolo.

“I’m only sixteen, you jerk!” Solaria huffed as she batted a branch aside. It snapped back at her. She managed to duck it with a yelp, only to trip over her own feet and land in a pile of leaves that smelt worse than the goat she gutted last month for a ritual. “My ankle hurts now. That’s your fault too!”

Why would she blame herself when she could blame it all on Marvolo? Why did his manor have to be so far away, with wards that made Apparation impossible? Well, safety, obviously, but they were terribly inconvenient right now.

To be fair, though she didn’t want to be fair, Solaria knew it wasn’t his fault. She was blaming him anyway. “I wanted to be twenty before bonding, you—you—” Solaria wasn’t sure how she wanted to finish that sentence, but none of the words that she thought of were polite. And, okay, so that was immature. But, who cared? She was not an official adult yet. She could be immature if she wanted. So there!

Solaria grumbled and stood up, brushing dirt and leaves off her clothes. Her pants were damp now, and she hoped they would dry before she entered Marvolo’s official territory. The last thing she needed was to appear looking like a filthy Muggle. That wouldn’t be a good first impression to make on the Dark Lord of Wizarding Britain.

A branch cracked somewhere behind her.

Solaria ran.

She didn’t know how the Aurors found out she was a Necromancer. As far as she knew, no one outside her family knew. Well—and Neville Longbottom, of course. Solaria would never forgive him if he had blabbed her secret while messing around with Susan Bones. He would be dead to her. He would be so dead to her that she might resurrect him just so that Marvolo could kill him again. And again. And again. 

“Ow,” Solaria hissed as branches whipped against her and cut her skin. She should’ve worn the long-sleeved shirt. “Right, because this was an escape that allowed enough time to change,” she bit out. It had taken too many charms and her mum’s Invisibility Cloak to get out of Hogsmeade without being captured.

Just because Solaria was sixteen didn’t mean she was an idiot. She knew exactly why the Aurors wanted to catch her. If she were lucky, they would just kill her. Solaria had never been very lucky. Hence the magic she was using non-stop in an effort to erase her trail. 

“You owe me for this, Marvolo.” 

Solaria had a horrible habit—according to Neville—of talking to Marvolo as if he were present. Considering she had never met the man in her entire life, she sort of figured Neville had a right to complain. Regardless, she didn’t plan to stop.

A quick stop to catch her breath ended with Death Eaters melting out of the trees. Well, not melting. Obviously. A tree wouldn’t melt. It would catch fire. But they appeared out of seemingly nowhere. Not actual Nowhere. Solaria did an experiment or fifty once to see if it were possible; for the record, it wasn’t. The magic she used to block her trail must have triggered a defensive ward. She was surprised it had taken them this long to find her.

She must be on Marvolo’s land now.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” A wizard with blue eyes smirked at her and stalked closer. He was the ugliest pureblood she had ever seen. Seriously! He must have been one of those babies that people saw and secretly thought maybe it’ll grow up pretty.

Being on Marvolo’s land, with his Death Eaters, was the safest that Solaria had ever been in her entire life. She knew this; she didn’t doubt it. She was a Necromancer! Now, all that said, she didn’t feel safe. “I’ll see Marvolo now,” Solaria said. She shoved her fingers into her hair, which had fallen out of its ponytail, and started picking out leaves and moss.

“Watch your mouth, witch,” a set of twins growled in unison. They took a step forward, as if to intimidate her. It pissed her off that it kind of worked.

The ugly pureblood wrinkled his nose, as if she were the rankest thing he had ever smelled in his entire life. Bastard.

“Marvolo. Now.” Solaria flicked her fingers at them. “Shoo.”

Somehow, the ugly one could become even more ugly. He leaned toward her and snarled, “Listen here, you—”

And, abruptly, Solaria was just done.

“No,” Solaria stated, voice dangerously calm, “you listen here.” She snapped the fingers on her right hand, and little black flames danced on each fingertip. “I’ve been awake the last twenty-six or so hours. I’ve had Aurors on my trail almost that entire time, and I’d wager my left kidney that they’re Dumbledore’s pets. Someone I thought I could trust with my life betrayed me.” Her shoulders were so tense that she wondered if she might tear a muscle from how tightly they were bunched. “I’m still sixteen years old! If the Dark Lord of Wizarding Britain is too busy to meet me, then I’ll just go hang out with the Dark Lord of South Africa.” Solaria offered her serial killer smile and laughed when they flinched away from her. “Then the next time you see me, it’ll be because we’ve decided to take over the world.”

“Plotting domination already?” Marvolo Gaunt walked out of the trees. His Death Eaters parted and let him through. “My, my, aren’t you interesting.” His smile was every bit as macabre as hers. The glance he swept over her made her swallow. No one had ever looked at Solaria like that before—ravenous. 

She thought she knew what to expect. She was wrong.

Marvolo Gaunt was the only Dark Lord in the world who managed to keep his position alone. He had been the Dark Lord and unbonded for longer than she had been alive. He was so powerful and strong that only a Necromancer could ever hope to survive a bonding with him. Ergo why Aurors and enemies alike slaughtered every Necromancer they come across.

They said he was a tyrant. They said that bonded he would be worse than Genghis Khan.

“Oh, that burns.” Marvolo touched the black flames. He grabbed Solaria’s wrist, buried his nose in her skin, and breathed deeply. The fire danced next to his right eye; he didn’t even flinch.

“Marvolo.” Solaria’s voice came out as a dark tease. It was something she had never heard from herself before. When his teeth scraped against her wrist in response, she figured he liked it—a lot.

“I’m not going to wait until you’re seventeen,” he said against her skin. Marvolo’s gaze reminded Solaria of the time she went to a Muggle museum on a dare and saw a collection of exotic, pinned butterflies. 

“I never thought you would,” Solaria replied. That was why she hid so long. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, but Dark Lords were not meant to be alone. A Dark Lord was meant to have a Dark Lady. He had waited decades for his.

Marvolo bit down hard enough to leave an imprint of his teeth, but didn’t break the skin. He kissed her wrist and licked his lips. “Ask your courtship boon. And keep in mind that we’re bonding at moonrise tonight, little tyrant. Don’t be difficult on purpose.” 

Solaria had known what she would ask for her boon since she was a child and realized she was a Necromancer. “You will give me as many children as I desire, and swear to me that none of them will ever die.” Solaria would not allow anything else. She knew what it was like to grow up with terror as a constant companion. Unless she could promise her children unquestionable safety, she would not bring any into the world. Children were all she had ever wanted.

And, oh, what nightmares would await anyone who even thought of touching anything that belonged to the Dark Lord Marvolo Gaunt.

Somehow, with human vocal cords, Marvolo hissed with laughter. It sounded of unmitigated victory. But it was his eyes—eyes that burned like hellfire—which caught her heart. Near insanity. Near starvation. Near emptiness. Solaria had always known Marvolo would never let her leave once she was in his grasp. She had never guessed that he would be so quick to make her never even want to think about leaving.

People with eyes like his loved with possessive desperation. And Solaria knew, with a sudden surety, that he would do anything, kill anyone—even his favorite Death Eater—to keep her at his side.

“Little tyrant.” Marvolo dropped to his knees, crushing leaves with a harsh crackle. His Death Eaters abased themselves on the forest floor, so that none of them were above him. He kissed her stomach with a naughty smirk. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

Solaria’s heart raced, but not with fear. For the first time in her life, she felt safe and wanted.

As Solaria stroked his hair tenderly, Lysithea fell through the void.

oOo

Lysithea fell into her alternate male self and stared. How could the bastard, Marvolo, be so attractive in every world? Even as a woman he was unfairly beautiful!

“The Wizarding World is rotten to the core. I’m going to unmake it.”

Heir Rigel Black almost started crying as Lady Maia Gaunt’s words echoed in the afternoon air. Once again, he had failed. First, he wasn’t able to defeat her in the future—because nothing was worth dying and dishonoring his parents’ sacrifice—and now years as Maia’s closest friend in the past hadn’t changed anything.

“I …”

The old Rigel would have railed at Maia. The old Rigel would have attacked, trying to revive some sense in her, who had lost all grip on reality. The old Rigel, in the dark of night, might have even contemplated assassination and destroying pieces of her soul.

However, all his memories of the future were memories of the Dark Lady. The Dark Lady wasn’t standing in front of him, soul shattered and magic corrupted—the murderer of thousands.

Maia stood before him.

Maia. 

Her dark eyes were wary, asking the question Rigel never wanted her to aim at him. Will you betray me, Rigel?

Forgive me, Rigel thought at the future people he no longer had the right to claim as friends or family. He loved Maia too much to abandon her. Rigel placed his hands on Maia’s shoulders and asked a world-changing question. “How can I help?”

If Lysithea could have wept, she would have cried a scrying pool of tears. Rigel Black had just abandoned his family. Instead, she struggled to forget and fell.

oOo

Lysithea visited, observed, and fell.

Arcturia Black found Merlin and Morgana’s tombs and took Marvolo Gaunt to see them. It figured the bastard was fluent in Old English and could translate the engravings for her.

Again.

Marvolo Gaunt and Lyra Black had tea during Hogsmeade weekend, and the bloody reporters wouldn’t leave them alone.

And again.

Maia Gaunt saved Tarvos Black from a Gorgon during a Magical Creature hunt. Or so she thought. He had it under control, thank you very much.

oOo

Lysithea appeared, helpless. Despite her vast spell repertoire, she couldn’t shield her alternate self.

Though she wasn’t usually one for cursing, Lady Pandora Black swore a blue streak in her head when one of the Dark Lord Styx’s followers cast a curse that shredded the back of her war robes. The skin between her shoulder blades was on display.

“Black!”

“P-Pandora!”

Pandora became a whirlwind of destruction. She cut through the attackers and left blood and death behind her. To erase the moment of exposure was nothing but a fantasy; the Department of Mysteries didn’t share the version of the Obliviation Charm that worked on Magical Beings. She could have eradicated the truth from a thousand Muggles, but against a single witch or wizard, she had no recourse. Pandora constantly overcame the odds; she accomplished what other people thought was impossible. But not even she could erase the past. If it were possible, she would’ve done it already.

“On your right.”

“Above you!”

“Behind.”

Orders came from all directions as Aurors fought against the Dark Lord’s army. Until, finally, the attackers lay dead or dying. Pandora sighed and removed her helm. It would be easier to Disapparate and hide, but she had never been a coward. This confrontation was unavoidable; she preferred to finish it promptly.

“Pandora”—it took everything she had not to flinch as small fingers traced the mark between her bared shoulder blades—“you’re my brother’s soul mate. It has his name above our family crest.” Lady Felicia Flint circled around to the front of her, eyes wider than usual. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because I didn’t want anyone to know,” Pandora snapped, in a tone she tended to reserve for her enemies. She hated discussing it; she could hardly bear to think about it. The family crest and name engraved in her skin was a betrayal of the cruelest variety. 

“Black?” Heir Flavius Flint stared at her as if he had never seen her before. She hated how he perused her. Pandora would kill him before she would allow him to possess her body. “Black, wh—?” Flavius reached for her, only to halt when another wizard blocked him.

Marvolo Gaunt smiled at the people assembled around her. “You’re popular, Pan.” His voice was biting. With a roll of his shoulders, his over-robe fell from his arms; he caught it and swung it around Pandora with the casual ease of someone who had performed the same action countless times. “You know I hate it when you’re surrounded.” He glared and everyone moved to stand in front of them.

Pandora wrapped her hand in the sleeve of his robes. “I know, Marvolo. I’m sorry.” Armed people surrounding her whilst he was elsewhere was their personal Pit of Tartarus. They knew firsthand where that led—suffering that only a desire for revenge could force someone to live through. Pandora leaned against him and felt some of her tension ease.

Marvolo would die before allowing any harm to come to her. And Pandora would massacre all of the Wizarding World before losing him again.

“Lord Gaunt,” Flavius said, frigid as always, though not as stoic, “remove yourself from my soul mate’s person at once.”

When Marvolo laughed, it sounded like insanity and a death wish that would never be granted. “She isn’t yours, Flint.” Marvolo gripped Pandora’s hip possessively; she didn’t object to his familiar touch. “She isn’t yours, and she isn’t ever going to be yours.” His smile widened to show his teeth; the lesser wizards shivered. “If anyone tries to take her away from me …”

“But she bears Flavius’s soul mark!” Felicia objected. She pointed at Pandora even as she scowled at Marvolo. “I saw it with my own eyes. I touched it!”

“This time,” Pandora bit out when Marvolo’s magic flinched. Both she and Marvolo strived to forget the cursed mark was there. They despised it. And their hatred spread to the people who wouldn’t leave their deepest pain alone. Must they insist on prodding it?

“What do you mean ‘this time’?” Lord Rutherford Lestrange asked.

Marvolo’s fingers drifted from the side of her hip up her stomach in a slow caress. His fingers stopped beneath her left breast. Flavius’s hand tightened on his wand, but he didn’t draw it—likely because he might catch Pandora in the attack. “Once upon a time,” Marvolo said, tracing his fingers beneath her breast, “my name and family crest were engraved in Pan’s skin right here.”

“Impossible,” Flavius stated. “No one has two soul mates.”

“Pan found me when we were starving brats living in Muggle London,” Marvolo said, as if Flavius hadn’t interrupted. “Of course, her name wasn’t Black the first time.” His magic permeated the air until it was visible. “Even back then, she was mine. I wasn’t ever going to let her go. Not even if her soul mate appeared.”

“And it wouldn’t have mattered if the name and crest belonged to someone else, though I’m grateful Mother Magic got it right. I wasn’t ever going to leave Marvolo,” Pandora hissed. She vibrated with rage as the memories were plucked back up to the surface. She had spent her entire life as Pandora Black trying to smother the sound of Marvolo’s howls of agony as she died in his arms.

“What happened?” Lestrange asked.

Marvolo wrapped himself around Pandora, as if to reassure himself that he wasn’t the captive of a Djinn who wove him an illusory world. “Grindelwald attacked her when I wasn’t around. I didn’t find her in time to save her. She died.” The grief that rippled from his magic to hers almost drove her to her knees. 

“As tragic as the loss of your soul mate is, Lord Gaunt, that doesn’t give you the right to mine,” Flavius said. 

How dare he? She would never be his. “Before I died,” Pandora said, “I thrust my wand through the crest. I sealed all of my memories into my wand. They were unsealed and returned to me the moment I was reincarnated.”

“Your mark doesn’t mean anything, Flint.” Marvolo kissed the corner of Pandora’s mouth. He touched her often to remind himself that she was alive and with him once more. The decades without her, as he plotted revenge and waited for her to be reborn for him, were over. “She’s mine. She’s been my wife for decades. Not even death could tear us apart forever.”

“But, Pandora—”

“There are no ‘buts’ involved in this, Felicia,” Pandora stated. She glanced past the people who watched the tableau in silence to meet her friend’s gaze. “Marvolo and I will bond as soon as we end this upstart of a Dark Lord.”

And then Marvolo owed her a daughter. A beautiful daughter named Merope, to honor his mother, who died birthing him. Pandora’s heart ached with the possibilities. She yearned for lost time and children who should have filled the intervening years. Nothing would rob her of children again. Nothing!

Lysithea clung to the warmth of Marvolo’s magic. She fell.

oOo

The black orb of magic writhed inside Lysithea; she settled into a male version of herself.

“So what do you think?”

“What?” Oberon Black asked. Why did Arche, his little brother, have to be sick? He wasn’t used to dealing with Peter Cunningham without his regular buffer. And while Oberon would gladly tolerate his brother’s friends, asking him to pay enough attention to respond was expecting too much of him.

All Oberon wanted was to lie back against the grass and be left alone.

“Black, Peter wanted to know if you’d go with us to see the new film that came out.” Rosalia Evans beamed at him, bouncing in place, bits of her red hair flying about. “There’s supposed to be sword fighting and romance and revenge.” Her attempt to mimic swashbuckling was pitiful. “Please come see it with us, Black!”

Oberon’s shoulders slumped as he tried to find a way out of the invitation. He didn’t despise Muggle things … they just couldn’t compare with the superiority of the Wizarding World. It felt like he was being smothered with requests to venture into Muggle America. For not the first time, he stared at the nearest building of Salem University and wondered why he bothered.

He might be able to hoodwink everyone else, but he wasn’t fooling himself. Running away from the grief to hide among wizards and witches in America had been ill-advised.

Oberon belonged in the British Wizarding World.

“I’m not sure, Evans,” Oberon said. He really didn’t want to watch a film.

“Please, Black?” Evans pouted at him. He wished she wouldn’t. She had already wasted enough of her life looking at him, and he had only been at Salem one semester. Oberon didn’t know how else to reject her without being blunt and cruel.

“Don’t be a jerk, Black.” Cunningham pushed his glasses back up his nose. He pointed at Oberon and said, “Stop being anti-social and come to the cinema with us.”

In Wizarding Britain, Oberon was anything but anti-social. He mattered. His opinions, policies, and words were recognized and valued. But here he was just a teenager who recently started university. He was one of many. Other than his handsomeness, Oberon blended in. The people around him walked past him as if he were ordinary. Oberon barely tolerated it.

“I don’t feel like it.”

Cunningham gawped at him. “Jerk!” he declared, before glancing at Evans and blushing. 

“Prat.” It would make Oberon’s life so much easier if Cunningham would just man up already and tell Evans how he felt. Maybe she would finally turn her attention elsewhere.

Evans smiled at him, oblivious as ever to Cunningham’s feelings. “Please, Black? You’ll have plenty of time to write your history paper tomorrow afternoon.”

“I—” A hint of familiar magic reached Oberon. His mouth snapped shut and his head whipped around.

“Stunning.”

“Do you recognize her?”

“I’ve never seen her before.”

Lady Maia Gaunt sauntered toward him. She wore summer robes; the skirt appeared to be at least eight layers of thin, flouncy fabric. The topmost layer was embroidered with dragons. Her dark hair hung down her back. She was as exquisite as ever and literally breathtaking. Maia mesmerized every male she passed.

The closer she came, the farther Oberon’s frown extended, and the tighter the furrow between his brows became. He did not appreciate how the guys in the courtyard were staring at her. Maia Gaunt was Sacred Twenty-Eight. They had no business eyeing her like they were making wagers on what she would look like naked. 

“I wonder who she is,” Cunningham muttered. 

“She looks very beautiful,” Evans said; she didn’t sound happy about it either.

He had no idea why Maia was in America, but he was grateful for the distraction.

Once she almost reached him, Oberon stood and dusted off his casual robes. Maia believed that appearances mattered; Oberon agreed. Arche disagreed, but his brother always had been wild.

When Maia offered her right hand, Oberon lifted it and kissed her knuckles. “You honor me with your presence, Lady Maia.” He meant it. She had earned his respect a thousand times over during their school years.

“Are you going to introduce her?” Evans asked.

Maia’s calm face didn’t twitch; her magic did. She wasn’t the only one who was annoyed at Evans’ lack of respect. It drove Oberon mental. If he had felt so inclined, it would be them who were introduced, not a Peer.

“How may I serve you?” Oberon queried. 

“You look well, Oberon,” Maia said. She perused him from top to bottom at her leisure. Her magic followed her gaze in a teasing caress against his. “Walk with me,” Maia ordered, before possessively clasping his arm.

Oberon cast a dismissive glance at Cunningham and Evans. “I’ll see you later. Have fun at the cinema.”

They said something, but he didn’t pay attention.

They walked for close to an hour, before pausing near some shops. Maia leaned against him. Oberon bit his tongue to keep from saying something stupid. She wasn’t like Evans; she was regal, competent, and loyal. Maia was his equal, someone he could imagine at his side for several lifetimes. 

He wasn’t vain enough to think she would ever feel similarly.

“Oberon,” Maia stated, forthright and stubborn, “I demand that you return to Wizarding Britain on a permanent basis.”

His lips twitched and amusement sparked. “Why?”

Maia turned away from the window of a millinery. Her dark eyes skimmed over his face, lingering on his lips for a moment longer than anywhere else. “It’s irresponsible of you to be so far away that I’m outside the reach of your magic.”

Oh. 

Well, that changed everything, didn’t it? “I have some affairs that I need to resolve before I can leave. You’re welcome to accompany me.”

Maia smiled at him, then. It was barely visible and it still overwhelmed Oberon. He had seen her smile three times before today; none of them had been for him. This one was and he intended to treasure it and her.

Oberon rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. No one snuck past his protection and pilfered all he held dear. He had built his defenses until they were lethal; now he had a reason to guarantee they would be invulnerable.

Is love between us possible? Lysithea thought. And then she fell.

oOo

Lysithea tumbled, fell, and spun through space and time.

Once.

Their twins were turning eleven, about to leave for Hogwarts, and neither Perseus Black nor Maia wanted to let their eldest go.

Twice.

Cassiopeia Black was a Seer. She was painfully alone. No one’s magic was strong enough to bond with hers. Then … Marvolo Gaunt.

Thrice.

Ophelia Black’s precious mother, Isla, lay dying. The potion that could cure her needed Basilisk scales. Every avenue to locate some had failed. Then Marvolo Slytherin appeared and gifted ten to her father. He didn’t ask for anything in return.

oOo

Lysithea’s perception fractured as she appeared in yet another reality. Had she truly misunderstood Marvolo so greatly?

Lady Aquaria Black leaned against the wall of the manor, looking up at the night sky. Even without the numerous fairy lights, she wouldn’t have seen a single star. Clouds as dark as her temper blocked the light. Her soaked navy blue dress clung to her; her hair collapsed in straggly tangles as the rain beat her.

She couldn’t breathe.

Aquaria punched the wall. Her hand throbbed, and she felt liquid trace down it, thicker than the rain that hid her as well as any shadows could. “Why did you have to die, Mom?” Aquaria whispered. Her voice was so bitter that it frightened her. “Dad lost his mind when you died.”

She stared at the waist-height railing of the balcony. It was short enough that she could easily jump over it and fall to her death. Anything, anything at all would be better than the news her father had just given her. No, not her father. Not anymore. After this, Sirius Black was dead to Aquaria.

The Black insanity consumed him with a vengeance when her mother died in a riding accident. Her father might still call her “princess,” but he certainly didn’t treat her like one. “I’m his treasured prisoner.” She was exhausted. 

Sirius’s words echoed in her head again. “To strengthen the Malfoy bloodline, Lucius and I have decided that you’ll bond with Draco this summer.” As Sirius had started gushing about the ceremony and how beautiful she would be, Aquaria had walked out of the room. She used to love the sound of his voice, and now she despised it. Come morning, Aquaria would put a hit out on him and she wasn’t going to regret it.

She gave the family so much. She would not give this.

If humoring Sirius’s insanity meant letting Draco—who was an immature prat—into her bed, then she was finished. If Aquaria wanted to be able to look at herself in the mirror without revulsion, she would rip all that Sirius had left of her mother away from him: herself.

“Your loss,” Aquaria stated, before spinning and marching through the manor. For the first time in a year, Lord Marvolo Gaunt was visiting. He visited Black Manor every year to discuss politics and catch up with her grandpapa.

Rumor said that Marvolo killed anyone who failed him. Rumor said that Marvolo attacked his own vassals. Rumor said that Marvolo couldn’t speak five words in a row without insulting someone. Rumor said that Marvolo was more promiscuous than a Veela. Aquaria didn’t know if all of those were true or not. She didn’t care. It didn’t matter. She knew enough. 

The door to his suite opened before she even knocked on it. “What does the Princess want?” Lord Alaric Avery, Marvolo’s Second Vassal, asked.

“Let her in! She looks like someone tried to drown her. Orion will kill us all if something happens to her!” Lord Theodred Nott, the First Vassal, growled.

She walked toward the fireplace, stopping beside the throne-like chair Marvolo sat in. He ignored her presence. It wasn’t the first time. Though she had caught Marvolo looking at her, and more often as she got older, he had never once spoken to her. On a rare occasion, he might nod at her. She would even swear that he had smiled at her once after she publically humiliated the Heir of the Selwyn Family, who tried to grope her while dancing.

“When I reached the age of consent, I found a gift-wrapped collection of undergarments on my bed. They came with a note promising to kill anyone I let seduce me. Every single item is as crimson as your eyes, Marvolo,” Aquaria said. At seventeen, though she was legal, she hadn’t been emotionally ready for a lover. Marvolo’s unsigned declaration of wanting her permanently, because he would never dishonor a lady of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, said what he would likely never tell her.

Marvolo loved her.

“Oh?”

Even with the roaring fire before her, and her burning magic inside her, she was frozen solid. “Sirius and Lucius plan to give me to Draco.”

Theodred and Alaric, who had been bickering in the background, shut up.

Wrathful magic burst into existence on Marvolo’s hands. He hissed extensively in Parseltongue, and then stood. Due to his meticulous control, the magic on his hands didn’t harm her as he hugged her. “I didn’t wait years for you to grow up so that a child could steal you from me.”

She prayed that Draco had bragged about his upcoming bonding with her; she wanted to laugh at his humiliation as Marvolo draped himself over her in public. Aquaria placed her hands on his chest and sealed her triumph over Sirius and Lucius. It was foolish of them to forget that women were the most dangerous creatures of all. Aquaria spoke and overthrew an unwanted future; it was mere coincidence that her words were the truth.

“I love you, Marvolo.”

If Lysithea had been able to hold her breath, she would have. Because she hadn’t just heard the words that time, she had felt the emotion that accompanied them. It was terrifying in its breadth.

oOo

With echoes of love for Marvolo in her heart and magic, Lysithea crumpled into a nightmare.

It took everything Lady Calypso Black possessed to hold in a scream as she collapsed in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Yells and angry cries filled the air as she watched her blood spread across the floor.

“Fetch the Minister! Tell him it’s an emergency!”

“My lady!”

People screamed her name, but replying felt too difficult. Calypso hacked up a wad of blood, but didn’t even have the strength to Vanish it; it dribbled out of the corner of her mouth.

It was supposed to be a fairly simple mission, especially given her status as the Senior Curse-Breaker for Gringotts. It was meant to be a milk run. It was a one-person task. Sure, it was difficult, but definitely within her capabilities.

Hands pulled at Calypso and attempted to coax her from the fetal position. She wasn’t sure they realized her arms were the only things holding her intestines inside her body.

“What in Mordred’s name happened?” Head Auror Remus Lupin’s voice was a rumbling growl. He was typically level-headed. Calypso hadn’t heard him lose his temper like this since the last time someone got the drop on her father’s bodyguards.

If she could answer, she would. She hated worrying the men who might as well be family, with how much time they spent with her as she grew up. She was the Minister’s only daughter, the Princess of Wizarding Britain, and she had never doubted for a second that she was loved.

Calypso blinked as black dragon-hide boots entered her line of sight. It was harder than it should have been, but the blood on her face had started to harden and her eyelashes occasionally stuck to her skin.

“My lady,” Lord Marvolo Gaunt breathed. His hands were steady as he touched her. His voice shook with more emotion than she had ever heard him reveal when his Unspeakable mask covered his face.

“I want Aurors backtracking her Apparation now!” Remus barked. As always, the Aurors rushed to obey him.

She flinched, and then moaned as pain bombarded her. Blood gushed from her gut, and orders flew over her head, sharp and barked. This wasn’t a small wound her magic hadn’t gotten around to closing yet, like a simple cut. It wasn’t a negligible thing where one of the guys would order her to be more careful and she would flippantly promise, “Eh, I’ll do better next time.” This was, quite possibly, her death-in-motion.

Because a fellow Curse-Breaker had shown up and taken advantage of her trust in her coworkers. The witch had sneered down at Calypso, after shearing her open, and said, “I see now why they claim you’re a princess. You’re beautiful, but useless,” and then spun on her heel and Disapparated, as if she hadn’t condemned someone to death.

“Hang on, Lady Calypso!”

“Don’t die on us, my lady!”

Healing Magic filled her body. It was hard to focus through the pounding in her head. Calypso knew she had a concussion, but her magic was more worried with healing her stomach. Calypso was one of the most powerful witches in the world, but the Healing Arts weren’t her specialty.

A set of hands, radiating Healing Magic, landed on her throat. That had to be something like the ninth Healer working on her simultaneously. It had to be even worse than she thought. It was bad enough that no one had even suggested moving her to St. Mungo’s.

When the agony of her throat eased enough that she thought she could force a few words out of it, she did. “Charon.” Calypso was thankful she was still coherent enough to not call Marvolo by name. She knew all the Unspeakables; her father insisted on it, so that no one could pretend to be one and kidnap her.

Marvolo crouched lower, so that the hood of his robes blocked the light. “What do you require, my lady?” The timbre of his voice trembled.

Calypso regretted. Even though she was twenty-two, she hadn’t gathered the courage to do more than occasionally flirt with him. She had planned to wait until the next Ministry Gala to hand everything to Chance and ask Marvolo to waltz with her. But if the Healers failed and she died, she needed to ensure he knew the truth.

“My wand,” Calypso rasped.

Every Healer stilled.

“Keep working!” Remus ordered relentlessly.

Marvolo removed her wand from its holster, and Calypso gazed fondly at it. She remembered every scratch and imperfection. It told the story of her successes and failures. Some wizards and witches went to the Ministry, filled out paperwork, and exchanged vows and rings. When the Sacred Twenty-Eight wanted forever with someone, they traded wands. Normally, she would never do this in public. But now….

He held Calypso’s wand as gently as if he were holding a newborn. “To whom would you have me deliver it, my lady?”

As black spots flooded her vision, Calypso smiled and whispered three words. “Lord Marvolo Gaunt.” She watched his hands curl possessively around her wand. Then there was darkness….

As the world fell out from under her, Lysithea wondered if anything could hurt more than Marvolo’s voice did as he cried Calypso’s name and begged her to hold on. 

oOo

Lysithea knew she was falling. 

Maia Gaunt marched up to Corvus Black and declared she was tired of waiting for him to cease flirting with others, before kissing him in the middle of the Great Hall.

And falling. 

Magic punished Merope Gaunt, not for potioning Tom Riddle, but for stopping the Amortentia doses. So instead of receiving his magical birthright, Marvolo was named Tom Marvolo Riddle. He destroyed his soul. Mira Black had to kill him; it was a world that would cause night terrors for years.

And falling. 

Maia Gaunt stared at the Black Lake on a cold February morning and knew that Polaris Black was beneath its waves.

And falling. 

Alcyone Black broke through Marvolo Slytherin’s ancestral wards, just to see if she could, because she was bored. He awaited her on the lawn with a full tea service and an intrigued grin.

Worlds sped past. 

Marvolo … might have meant it.

 

oOo

Lady Ymir Black sat in the garden, her hands folded in her lap, though she desired nothing more than to fist them and scream her rage to the stars.

“Ymir?” Lady Fleur Weasley queried, before laying a hand on her shoulder.

“I’d like a moment alone, please,” Ymir said in French, a gentle smile on her face. The smile hurt her cheeks. What hurt even more was that Fay, her best friend, didn’t even notice it was counterfeit.

“Of course,” Fleur winked at her. “Daydream about Heir Zacharias Smith in peace. We’ll be within shouting distance if you need us,” she said before gesturing the other three of Ymir’s friends away.

Ymir maintained her composure until her friends were out of sight. Then she crumpled forward, her arms clutched at her waist. She sobbed. Her upper arm ached from the fierce grip of her teeth as she tried to stifle the noise. As it was, it would take at least an hour before she could let anyone see her after she finished feeling sorry for herself. She was not a pretty crier and her friends would spot a glamour in an instant.

Zacharias Smith.

She had danced in his arms all of the previous evening at their engagement ball. He hadn’t left her side for an instant, even sending others to fetch refreshments for her. He was attentive and handsome and dashing and Ymir hated him with every fiber of her once-pure heart.

“You bloody bastard!” Ymir hissed. Her arm was already bruised from the force of her teeth. She would have to heal it later, before anyone saw the damage. 

Graduating from Beauxbatons and returning home weren’t supposed to end like this. How could her grandfather keep news that she was betrothed at birth to Smith a secret? She had spent her entire life thinking she would be able to bond for love; then her grandfather obliterated her dreams.

“If only I had stayed in France,” Ymir sobbed. “If only I had gone to visit Brigitte or Amelie.”

She didn’t know how long she would be able to keep up the charade of being delighted to bond with Smith. Feigning feelings of deep and abiding love for him was arduous. 

A shudder wracked her body as she remembered how possessively he had touched her the night before. At one point, Smith’s hand had been so low on her back that she had felt humiliated. He had been much too close to touching things he had no business even thinking about. Some Lord he was!

“His hands wander. His love for you must be deeply passionate!” Fleur had gushed after the ball as Ymir prepared for bed.

Mindlessly agreeing with her friend had been one of the hardest things she had ever done. She was supposed to be in love with him, after all. She couldn’t very well blurt out that she wished his hands would’ve been severed from his body for touching her so familiarly.

Since she had become engaged, Ymir had trouble breathing. Panic attacks used to be rare; now they happened on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis. It took all her years of etiquette training to disguise them.

“I wish”—Ymir bit her lip until it throbbed—“I wish that someone who really loved me would steal me away.” It was a horrible thing to think, and an even worse thing to speak aloud. What if her disappearance led to a blood war? What if her family was slaughtered for her selfishness? 

Ymir wasn’t a rational woman, though. She was an emotional one. Her heart kept her alive and guided her choices. It was dying inside her at the thought of being Smith’s wife.

Her tears sparkled with magic, brighter than a sea of shooting stars.

“What ails you? I cannot bear to see you cry.”

For a moment, Ymir froze. That sounded like Lord Marvolo Slytherin; he was one of her grandfather’s closest associates. When she regained control and glanced up, a handsome man knelt before her. He had raven-black hair. He radiated power. There was something in his expression as he stared at her that confused her. It was an amalgamation of covetousness, desire, love, and protection.

Smith stared at her with thinly veiled lust.

Ymir touched Marvolo’s cheek. His eyes closed as he leaned into her touch. “You’re real.” She could feel him. He wasn’t a hallucination or a daydream. Had Mother Magic granted her wish—brought her heart’s greatest desire to fruition—as her mother always claimed She did?

“So are you,” he breathed. Then he turned his head and kissed her hand. It was a lingering kiss.

Lord Slytherin loved her. “How is this possible?” she asked. His skin was so soft. Even though he was very close to her, she didn’t feel threatened. His power was dark; she had never felt safer. 

“Does it matter?” he queried. He was here. Her wish had been granted; that was all that mattered.

“No,” Ymir said. He shuddered and kissed her hand again. “No, it doesn’t.”

“It’s good to see you again.” His voice was raspy and filled with so much longing that it made her heart ache, in a good way, for the first time in over a month.

“I … it sounds cliché, Lord Marvolo, but I find myself in need of rescuing.” Ymir leaned closer and stared into his eyes, which never dropped from her face to rove over her body. He had already proven himself much more honorable and princely than Smith.

“How can I help, Lady Ymir?” Marvolo asked. There was so much determination and resolve in him that she could do nothing but relax against him. It felt as if with those few words he had taken all of her problems onto his own shoulders, which were broad and strong enough to carry the load.

“Take me away,” she whispered. “Take me far, far away from here.” Her lips quivered with tiredness and fear. “And never let that wizard who calls himself a lord ever touch me again.”

There was a weight of danger and triumph to the air, but Ymir instinctively knew that she had nothing to fear.

“As my lady commands.”

Marvolo cupped her cheek. She leaned into his touch; it was reverential. Ymir felt precious and fragile, as if he feared the slightest touch might damage her beyond repair. He kissed her.

Lysithea fell into darkness, mindful of the power of the Heart Wish Magic she had witnessed. And for the first time, she wished Marvolo’s words were true.

oOo

Lysithea wondered what Marvolo’s kisses were like as she settled once again. Was he tender or rough? Did he take his time or devour her? What did he taste like?

Lady Pallene Gaunt perched on the window-seat and squeezed her eyes shut. Her arms folded protectively over her pregnant stomach. She would rather have been stabbed through the back by someone she trusted than hear yet another of the vicious rumors spreading about her.

“Pallene?” Heir Draco Malfoy, her cousin, stroked her hair. “Are you all right?”

She didn’t even bother attempting to lie to him. “No.”

“Want me to go send them all to St. Mungo’s again?” Draco asked. He trembled with the rage that she could no longer feel.

Instead, all Pallene felt was empty inside. Oh, the rumors weren’t ever spoken loudly—she was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, after all—but that didn’t keep them from reaching her ears. The newest one that she had heard, ruining her afternoon picnic on a sunny day, was that she didn’t know the father of her baby, seeing as she had slept with Marcus Flint, William Weasley, and Neville Longbottom.

“You know they’ve denied it,” Draco stated. “None of them would ever claim such intimacy with you, Pallene. They respect you too much to even joke or lie about it.”

“I know,” Pallene whispered.

“Father almost killed four of them this morning. I haven’t seen him that worked up since the last time Iolanthe needed a Healer.” He glared at the wall as if he could see the perpetrators through it and set them on fire. “I can’t help but think that Mother is going to be even harder on them. They deserve it, the bastards!”

Even the memory of Lucius shoving the gossipers down on their hands and knees and ordering them to beg for her forgiveness didn’t cheer her up. Nothing but the truth would bring the rumors to a swift end.

Pallene fingered the chain around her neck. Her silver bonding ring, with a massive pink diamond, hung between her breasts. She had promised her husband Marvolo that she wouldn’t tell anyone they were bonded until he decreed it was safe. There had been numerous assassination attempts on various bonded Noble ladies, and no one had been captured yet. He refused to put her in danger.

“Pallene?” Draco asked, voice even more worried than normal.

She leaned against him and sighed tiredly. A pregnant witch had little access to her magic. It all went to growing and shielding her child. With minimal power to defend herself, Pallene had nowhere else to turn. Marvolo was gone on a long-term, no-communication-allowed, Ministry assignment before she realized her condition. Her Uncle Regulus still hadn’t forgiven her deceased father for winning Isla Potter’s love. And Pallene would never trust Andromeda Tonks, who betrayed her birth family, to defend her.

Draco slept on her right side every night, his wand at his fingertips. One of Draco’s friends was always outside the door. They had guarded her fiercely every minute of the day since she had snuck into Malfoy Manor and begged for sanctuary.

Neville Longbottom would’ve taken her in, but Pallene didn’t want to get between him and Susan Bones when it looked like they were finally going to get together. The rumors were already adding enough mess to that situation. Padma Patil, her best friend, would’ve welcomed her. However, being stuck in the same manor as Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown’s incessant need to gossip and pester her for information would have led to her killing them the Muggle way. She didn’t want to give birth in Azkaban. 

As for Charles Prewett, if Pallene had gone to him, he never would’ve given her back to Marvolo.

“What if he believes the rumors?” As soon as the words escaped, Pallene wanted to recall them. If Marvolo dared to believe she had slept around while he was gone, she would castrate him.

“I’ll kill him,” Draco said. She had never seen him so still or cold. He usually burned with passionate fire and growled his threats like a pureblood werewolf. “If he believes for one bloody second that you would sully yourself, then he doesn’t know you and he doesn’t deserve you. I’ll cut him to ribbons.” Draco hugged her tightly. “If he doesn’t want you, you’ll be fine. You have us. And I think Lord Prewett would be all-too-pleased to claim your child as his own.”

“Oh? I never realized that Lord Prewett was suicidal. Thank you for the information, Draco.”

Pallene stopped breathing when she heard the familiar aristocratic voice. 

“Lord Gaunt!” Draco said, confusion and shock on his face. “Can I help you?” The offer of aid sounded more like: How in Mordred’s name did you get in here?

“Yes, you can.” Marvolo stabbed Draco with the tip of his wand. “Kindly remove your hands from my wife, before I remove them from your body.”

Draco stared at Marvolo’s wand, and then rolled his eyes. “Pallene?” he asked, verifying Marvolo’s claims.

“Marvolo …” She leaned away from Draco and slid off the window-seat, almost over-balancing from the weight of her pregnancy. “You’re home?” Pallene rushed into his arms, sagging against his chest as his magic swept over her like a blanket. Even though her cousins had tried their best, they hadn’t been able to make her feel as safe as Marvolo could with just his presence.

“I see your head is still attached to your shoulders, Malfoy. I’m impressed,” Marvolo gritted the words out. “Some with Black blood don’t know when to keep their hands to themselves among relatives.”

Seven months of hellish nights surfaced all at once. In the months she and Marvolo had been married, she had grown accustomed to him. He always slept curled around her, covering almost her entire body, so that if anyone attacked he would be in the way. Draco had refused to touch her hand while they slept on the same bed. “He’s my favorite cousin for a reason, Marvolo.”

Marvolo inclined his head the tiniest bit to Draco. Pallene wouldn’t have seen it at all if she hadn’t been riveted at the sight of her husband. “In gratitude for protecting her, I’ll allow you to be my child’s godfather.”

“I’m much obliged, Lord Gaunt,” Draco said.

“You should be.” 

Marvolo swept her up in his arms and took her back to Gaunt Manor in a whirl of Apparation. He laid her on their bed and kissed her as if he thought he might never see her again. Her thoughts were muzzy when he pulled back and stared in awe at her stomach. Then anguish overtook his features. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here, beloved, when you needed me most. If I had known.…”

Tears trickled down her cheeks and into her hair. Pallene pulled Marvolo back into her arms. “You came home to me, Marvolo. Nothing else matters.”

He curled around her and kissed her with a tenderness that made her chest ache. “Be honest with me. How do you feel?”

Pallene smiled. “Loved.”

Lysithea Black agreed and fell no further. Marvolo was waiting for her.


End file.
